Caryndil
by Elendil1
Summary: My first posting-please evaluate-A High Elf strikes back at his dark kin- CHAPTER THREE IS HERE!
1. The Shadow

Revenge of Nagarythe  
  
The night was a great, deep void, into which even the stars of the heavens seemed to fade. Dark, wraith like clouds obscured the light of the moon, and throughout the bleak land, the elves hid in their homes, yearning for the coming of day, for the winds of magic ran high, and it was folly to venture into the thick black maw of the night.  
All this suited the purposes of the raiding party, twenty ruthless Naggorothi, clothed in dark mail and black cloaks, with deadly repeater crossbows and swords hidden beneath. Their leader was a tall, fell captain named Gunarth, a wicked, twisted being, veteran of many winters, and many murders as well, he was an assassin schooled well in the arts of death. This was his third foray into the lands of Ulthuan, but never before had he gone this far south. It was a standard raid, and he was but a member of a much larger force, but he himself had been delegated by the leader of the raid to go southwards into the foothills of the great Annulli mountains, to a distant mountain shrine, rumoured to be the final resting place of the greatest bane to Naggaroth that ever raised blade: Alith Anar. The rewards for the plunder of this shrine, if it indeed existed, would be beyond his wildest dreams. He would be exalted by the Witch King himself, raised to a position of power and wealth.   
Thus, caught up in his dark dreams, the arrogant elf did not notice the softly whistling arrow that transfixed the Dark Elf who was guarding the rear. He fell without a sound, and only when he hit the hard stones of the road did Gunarth turn in surprise. "Halt!" he hissed, and his followers needed no second bidding, for they were mystified by the lone arrow. Then, another arrow came out of the wood, and hit Gunarth's shield, only inches away from his heart. He grinned, and a red light awoke in his eyes. "Spread out, my soldiers, and let's see if we can find our sniper." His men eagerly began walking towards the wood, bloodlust conquering all thoughts of reason from their minds.  
In the woods, behind a great oak tree, a tall elf cloaked in grey stood, with bow raised and arrow notched. Near him knelt the other members of his band, for they were Shadow Warriors, elusive and lonely survivors of the destruction of their homeland at the hands of the Witch King. They knelt now in silent prayer to Isha and to Loec, two of the Elven gods, begging for speed and skill to aid in their revenge. Yet their leader Caryndil was not bowed in prayer, but watched instead with eagle eyes the advance of the Dark Elves into the wood. Raising his bow, he stifled a cry of outrage at the fouling of the woods of Ulthuan by these scum. He whispered in the ancient tongue, " Spirit of wind, guide thou the flight of my arrow" and loosed his shaft. It felled a Dark Elf, hitting him in the neck. "Spirit of fire, aide thou the strength of my arm" Another whistling arrow, another Dark Elf splayed out on the ground in cold death. And now, his compatriots had finished their prayer and joined Caryndil in his relentless attack, the woods now filled with white fletched arrows. Dark Elves fell like wheat.  
Now Gunarth was alarmed. Half of his party were dead, and he felt the icy talons of fear grip his heart. "Back, my soldiers!" he cried, and stumbling, they began to run towards the road, but suddenly they were met by a hail of arrows from that direction, which they had deemed safe. And now, the Shadow Warriors burst from the undergrowth, with cries of "Nagarythe!" and "Ulthuan!" Casting aside their bows, the High Elves drew their swords, and they glittered like starlight upon the grass beneath the trees. The Naggorothi fled now aimless in terror, and were cut down as they ran. But Caryndil now confronted Gunarth, as he stood paralysed with fear in a little clearing. "Take up thy blade, thou spawn of Naggoroth, and face me!" spoke Caryndil in tones of clear command. For, despite the centuries of festering hatred of the Shadow Warriors for their dark kin, Caryndil was unwilling to see this one die without a fight. But Gunarth saw this as an act of weakness, and treacherously he drew a poisoned knife from beneath his hauberk and dashed at Caryndil. Yet to no avail, for Caryndil, seeing his intent, with a thrust of his longsword slew Gunarth, his silver blade piercing the heart of the Dark Elf. And so Gunarth, with all his dreams of power and wealth and glory, perished at the hand of his ancient kin.   
Caryndil wiped his sword on the grass, and sheathed it. He looked down at the body of the coward, and for an instant, the look of cold satisfaction on his face was removed, and a great sorrow overcame him, and kneeling, he closed the still staring eyes of the body, and bowed his head. Then, picking up his bow, he strode off back to his companions, to return to their camp.  
  



	2. The Outcasts

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The day after the fight was chill and misty, a mighty fog that swept down from the Annulli mountains and cloaked everything in shadow. It was the perfect environment for stealth and secrecy, but for once, Caryndil and his men were not seeking vengeance. Instead, they pursued a more basic need: food. The land they were in, once full of game, fish and wildlife, was now a barren land of bleak forests and steppe. Occasionally, as his troop walked on the great highway which led southwest to Ellyrion and Tiranoc, they caught a glimpse of some great ruin, a mighty tower cast on its side , a proud palace in rubble, all sad reminders of a happier day, when the Shadowlands were full of glad folk. 

At length, Caryndil and his men came up to a settlement, nestled around a small stream which ran through the waste. Although it was not in his nature to make contact with other elves, Caryndil had no choice but to approach the door of the largest house and beg for food. His elves were hungry, for even their elven strength and endurance could not withstand a full week without nourishment. The fight, too, had exhausted them.

The owner of the house peered out cautiously from behind the door, and on seeing Caryndil and his soldiers, he gave a cry and made as though to leave, but Caryndil stopped him.

"No, brother! We are not Dark Ones, but fellow elves of the land of Ulthuan! Gaze upon us!" And with that he showed him his shield. It was black, but etched upon it in silver was the elf rune "lecai", which is "light" in the ancient tongue. No Dark Elf under the sky would carry such a noble rune. The elf stared at it in confusion.

" You must then be Shadow Warriors, I assume" he said, coldly.

" We are, and now we beg of you food and assistance, for my warriors are hungry."

The owner of the house studied him with disdain. 

" No wandering barbarians are welcome in our house. Get thee gone, son of Nagarythe, and trouble us no longer."

Hot anger rose inside Caryndil's mind, yet he held it back.

"We seek only a morsel of food, and we will be gone. Wouldst thou turn back thine own brethren in need?" 

"You are no brothers of mine," replied the owner, " Now return to your little caves in the hills, and leave honest elves in peace! " These last words were spoken as a yell. 

It was too much for Hylindor, a young, hot blooded elf who had recently joined Caryndil. He drew his sword, and cried,

"How dare you name us so, coward! Who protects your homes and fields by night? Who bleeds and dies so that cravens like yourself can continue with their lives?" 

But here, Caryndil stopped him, for the owner of the house had run inside and barred the door in fright. He looked sternly at Hylindor, and said, " We must reserve our anger for our enemies, young one, and not those whom we are sworn to protect."

But Hylindor's blood was up, and he responded "He showed us not one shred of respect or kindness, to shut his door in our face."

In his heart, Caryndil knew he was right, but he reprimanded Hylindor anyway, and commanded the troops to move on. As they passed through the village, jeers and laughter came from the windows of the houses, the people of the town mocking them. Caryndil wearily continued the march. Sometimes all the sacrifice, all the horror and the madness, the hiding, the many skirmishes and battles seemed useless. He and his people would never be appreciated, never be rewarded for their unfailing loyalty. The world was cold and dark for his people. What was it that his parents had said? "The life of a shadow warrior is cruel and hard, fraught with sorrow, and destined for a bloody conclusion." Still a child, he had responded, "Then why do we fight at all? His father had then said, "We fight for blood, and to exact upon our hated kin the vengeance for our misery. It is our sole purpose in this life." 

But his mother had disagreed. 

Yet what she thought of the matter, Caryndil never knew, for in week both lay slain, killed in their sleep by Dark Elf raiders, and from then on, Caryndil had assumed the mantle of leadership for his band. Many had died and now the group was down to six warriors. Four trained soldiers, but one a mere youth and one an elven maid, the last of the womanfolk of his band. Caryndil was still young by elven standards, having seen seventy winters, but already they seemed cold and bleak years, fraught with useless fighting and deaths, too many deaths. 

Yet a more pressing matter now came to the surface of Caryndil's mind; one that had driven him to take the southern road. For he had pondered the reasons, the motives for the Naggorothi raid which had reached so deep. There was a rumour about the tomb of Alith Anar- but was it real? If so, it was a matter of dire importance. For there was a prophecy passed down from generation to generation, down through the ages, and spoken only amongst the Shadow Warriors, that when the rest of Anar was disturbed, the land of Ulthuan would be in grave danger. 


	3. The Council

Chapter Three  
  
  
  
It was now almost four weeks since the Caryndil's ambush had destroyed the Dark Elf force. Caryndil and his Elves were now nearing the southern border of the Shadowlands. Here, the Annulli drew closer to the sea. Of old, there had been a great and wide land before the mountains, full of prosperous towns and happy people, the land of Tiranoc. Yet in the Cataclysm following the defeat of Malekith, the land had been consumed by the hungry waters of the sea, and now only scattered islands remained, that and a tiny strip of coast where the last Princes of Tiranoc still rode their proud chariots beside the ocean.  
  
It was along this strip of coast, bordered on their left by the stern peaks of the mountains, that Caryndil's band advanced. The land was more fertile and green here, and hunting was easier. In the new spring of the land, the flowers of Ulthuan blossomed, adorning the hillsides in a wealth of colour, forming a soft carpet for the stern black boots of the gaunt Shadow Warriors. Yet Caryndil would not slow his pace to take in the magic of the spring. He proceeded relentlessly southward, heading to the Council.  
  
A great meeting of the elders of Nagarythe was planned. Drutchii raids had increased in frequency and severity, and Falryr, a leader of the western tribes had summoned Caryndil, to report his deeds in the Northlands. It was a request which could not be denied, and it was a great honour as well. Therefore, even his lean, pale face began to show his excitement as he neared the council area, a high hill, with the ruins of a tower at its summit. At the foot of the hill, Caryndil's band stopped, and were challenged by the sentries.  
  
" Who are you, that you presume to enter the Council of Nagarythe?" spoke one of the sentries, an old, grizzled warrior.  
  
" I am Caryndil son of Morindil, captain of the Eagle tribe of the Western Hills. " Caryndil spoke his lineage, and the name of his band. He showed the guard the lecai rune on his shield.  
  
The guard bowed in acknowledgement. " Hail, and be welcome to the Council, Commander Caryndil. Lord Falryr has been waiting for you. "  
  
Caryndil and his band continued up the hill, encountering more and more of their kin. As they saw themselves surrounded by more and more of their own people, the uneasiness and tension of the past few weeks began to fade, and the elves began to smile as they recognised their brothers and sisters in arms, Shadow Warriors from all over the Northlands. There were at least twelve score Shadow Warriors there, and all but two of the Eight Elders of Nagarythe, each a leader of a group of tribes. Caryndil made his way to the white pavilion of Falryr amid the smells of roasting game and wood smoke, and surrounded by the sounds of an Elven camp; the gentle thrums of lyres and harps, the wind on the tall grass, and the sylvan laughter of the Elves themselves. As he approached the pavilion, Falryr, an ancient elf clad in a white tunic and grey cloak, stepped out.  
  
" Ah, welcome, Caryndil! " he said, with the beginnings of a smile on his tired face. " I trust your journey went well?"  
  
"Well enough, my Lord. We took an enemy patrol at unawares in a wood, and slew them all." Caryndil remembered the ambush.  
  
" I see. Were there any casualties?"  
  
"No, my Lord. We were very successful."  
  
" Excellent. It is because of your recent skirmishes with the cursed Ones that you were summoned to the Council," Falryr went on, " There are many things to be discussed tonight, primarily the purpose of the raids into the North"  
  
Caryndil stiffened with excitement-perhaps now he would learn the designs of the enemy. But before he could further enquire as to the issue, Falryr spoke. " But these are matters for learned concourse and discussion- Come! Let me introduce you to some friends of mine. "  
  
With this, he entered the pavilion, Caryndil following him. Inside, the light was gentle and cool, the evening air made the inside glow with comfort. Seated on two low stools were a curious pair of Elves. Both were tall, powerful elves in the prime of life. One wore a long suit of mail, fringed with blue, and in his belt was a great long sword. The other was dressed much as Falryr was, but he bore a mighty battleaxe, and wore, as a cloak, the pelt of a White Lion. Caryndil's surprise melted quickly into awe.  
  
Falryr broke the silence.  
  
" These are two of my friends; Lindenal, " he indicated the elf with the sword, " is a Swordmaster of the Tower of Hoeth, and Famenon," he pointed to the White Lion " is a warrior of Chrace, one of the illustrious White Lions."  
  
Caryndil bowed, and the two seated elves returned his gesture of respect. Falryr made an expansive gesture, " May I bring you some refreshment? Some wine, perhaps? It is from Avelorn- a gift from one of her Majesty the Everqueen's handmaidens. "  
  
Caryndil accepted the glass. The wine was fresh, dark and cool, it had a natural, almost fruity taste to it. Falryr grinned. " We may only be wandering warriors, my friends," he gestured at Lindenal and Famenon," but this luxury at least we possess."  
  
Lindenal replied, " The service of the Shadow Warriors is invaluable to the defence of our Realm. You honour us with your gift."  
  
Falryr bowed, " I am glad. Let us take a moment to relax, ere we join the council fire to discuss weightier matters, eh? I trust that your entourage will find a suitable site to camp, commander."  
  
Caryndil bowed slightly and sat. There followed an intriguing conversation about the current state of affairs in the Court of the Everqueen, the latest scandals in Lothern, and, much more interesting to Caryndil, the work of Lindenal in the Tower of Hoeth. He was fascinated by the story Lindenal told him, of decades spent learning the arts of swordcraft, but also meditation, the pursuit of wisdom, and the history of the Elven race. All four elves were thus engaged when a young sentry entered the tent and bade them come to the council fire.  
  
Caryndil rose, bowed to his host, as well as to the Swordmaster and the Lion. He then left the tent and entered the cool embrace of the evening. A fire had been started in the base of the ruined tower, and around it the Shadow Warriors were seating themselves. Caryndil located his band, and strode over to where they sat, near a ruined arch. Hylindor had roasted several wild ducks, and the company feasted on these while the Council came to life. More and more Warriors arrived, sitting on the outskirts of the  
  
tower ring and around the crest of the hill. Caryndil was startled when, without any preamble, a tall elf in a green tunic rapped his staff on the ground sharply, as his assistant blew a horn.  
  
" Hail, and well met, Warriors of the North!" he cried.  
  
"Hail!" came the reply.  
  
"Be welcome to the Council of Nagarythe! Behold the Elders! They come now to give counsel. Pay heed, ye Warriors, for now shall be revealed many secrets, now shall many plans and designs be born."  
  
" We hear thee!" came the enthusiastic reply.  
  
At a meeting of any other elf folk, there would have been hours of song and dance before the actual council took place, but these elves here were Shadow Warriors, born to impatience and haste. They waited eagerly as the Elders took their seats on a stone platform. Behind Falryr stood the two strangers, Lindenal and Famenon.  
  
Syraith, an elf in Caryndil's band, was confused.  
  
"What do they do here? " he asked Caryndil. " Are our councils now open for all Ulthuan to come and mock us?"  
  
But Caryndil answered him, " They are guests of Falryr, and I trust their purpose for being here will be revealed soon. "  
  
As he said this, a short Elf Elder in the soft red raiment of the Eastern Warriors rose and began,  
  
"Kindred! Let us put aside the trivial issues and petty concerns which so often mar the proceedings-there have been more Druchii raids than ever before since the Great War. There are foul deeds afoot! We cannot ignore the facts!"  
  
A great cheer erupted from the seated Elves. The speaker went on,  
  
" Five towns near the coast were sacked in a single day and night! The blood of our people was poured over the rocks and trees as a warning!" There were many cries of anger and outrage from the council.  
  
A gaunt, wispy elf rose and addressed the company,  
  
" My friends, Hindyr speaks truth. There will be time for anger and vengeance soon, but I must ask you to put aside your wrath until all tales have been told, and all counsels heard! Hearken to me, Elves!"  
  
Hyndyr, the elf in red, bowed and sat back down again. The murmurs of anger came to a halt. With a sigh, the tall elf began his story. It was a grim tale. The Witch King had sent two Black Arks to the shores of Ulthuan, and his armies had poured out from them, taking even the ceaseless watch of Nagarythe by surprise. After the initial assault, instead of following their usual procedure of rapine and murder, the Dark Elves had penetrated deep into the Northlands, separating into small bands and covering vast tracks of the countryside, as far as the Annulli mountains. The old elf believed that they were not an invasion force, but something more sinister.  
  
" They are searching for something," he said, " Their dispatches which we have intercepted are full of phrases such as this- 'No success yet' and 'We cannot find it, but we sense that we are near' "  
  
The elf gazed out at the company.  
  
" I believe you all know very well what it is the Dark Ones are searching for," he spoke, wearily, "For it is the tomb of Alith Anar." 


	4. March to the Gate

Chapter Four

The Council broke up two hours later, the Elves all heading off in different directions, to pass an uneasy and restless night. Caryndil strode in a daze through the dark, wandering aimlessly about the crest of the hill. The events of the Council had been staggering. The old elf, named Virine, had revealed the purpose of the Druchii raids, and it had terrified the audience. The Tomb of Alith Anar was sacred to the folk of Nagarythe, the soul of the great warrior was a beacon of hope to the scattered people of the Shadow Warriors. Yet no mortal knew its location, for Alith Anar had built it himself, and lain down inside it to die, or so the legends said. It was rumoured to be high in the Annulli Mountains, overlooking the Northern Sea, but no elf had ever found it. Yet all elves knew that if the rest of Anar were ever disturbed or desecrated, his protection would wane, and the land of Ulthuan would be imperilled. 

And here was the terror- the only reason that the Dark Elves were now concentrating so mightily on finding-and destroying-the Tomb was that they planned invasion. No trifling raids, no tentative base in Anlec, but complete and utter conquest was their aim. It was staggering, the last time there had been a full fledged invasion of Ulthuan, the land had almost been swamped by the hordes of Chaos. The people and the land were, in some places, still recovering from the catastrophe. The Shadow Warriors now knew their duty. They would be called upon more than ever, to protect the North from the minions of Naggoroth, but against the massive strength of the Witch King's armies, it would be nearly impossible. Ulthuan had to be warned.

Caryndil gave a start as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled to see Falryr standing behind him. 

"Caryndil, come with me, please." 

Falryr led Caryndil into his tent, where the two strangers, Lindenal and Famenon, sat talking quietly with one another near a glowing brazier. 

"Caryndil, the reason I called you here is one of utmost importance," Falryr began, " The brethren have enough on their hands already, what with preparing the defence of the North, and few can be spared to bring warning to the rest of Ulthuan. "

Caryndil nodded, as realisation crept into his mind. " Do you want me to abandon my people in their time of need, and head for safety?" he asked incredulously.

Falryr shook his head impatiently, " No of course not! But it is necessary to warn the people of the South! Two parties are being out tomorrow morning. One leaves south for Caledor and Ellyrion. One leaves east, to warn the Everqueen. You have been chosen to lead that force."

Caryndil stared at him. " What? Me? My Lord, there must have been a mistake! I am hardly the right choice for an expedition to Avelorn! There are others, betters-"

"Nevertheless, you were chosen by the Council, and you leave tomorrow." 

Caryndil leaned, weakly, against a tent pole. 

"But why was I chosen? What makes me special? Why?"

Falryr sighed, and bowed his head.

"Alas, my friend, I am forbidden to tell you why you were chosen. But I am charged to give you this-"

He produced a small, wooden box. Caryndil stared at it, fascinated. It was engraved in needle thin mithril, and was smooth and cool to the touch.

" You must only open the box when you reach Avelorn. Only there will you be able to use the Key. Whatever happens, you must not break open the box."

Caryndil nodded dumbly, fastening the box to his belt.

Falryr smiled, wanly. "Well, then. You leave tomorrow at the second hour. You will have an escort. A party of spearmen will accompany you, and a detachment of archers. Also, Lindenal and Famenon here will go with you." Lindenal bowed, as did Famenon. "Your own band of warriors may accompany you too. "

Caryndil accepted this hail of instructions and stunning revelations quietly. He bowed, and left the tent. In the morning, he was to assume command of a battleforce. He had never before been a commander of anything but his small band of elves. He made his way over to the place where his elves were sleeping, and told them of his appointment. They all vowed unanimously to accompany him. With a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas swirling in his mind, Caryndil lay down and fell asleep.

He awoke to a grey, cloudy morning, and as he got up he saw that the council area was almost completely empty of his kin, the Shadow Warriors. They had melted back into the night, gone back to prepare the defence of their beloved homeland. Only Falryr's tent was still up, and he was preparing to leave as well. Caryndil saw Famenon and Lindenal come striding briskly over to him, carrying all their battle gear. Famenon spoke.

" Commander, the troops wait below for your inspection. "

Commander. Never before had he been addressed by any name but Caryndil, not even by his own band. But he quickly got over his amazement, and donning his helmet, said, " Right. Rouse my elves here, if you will, while I go and speak with the soldiers. " Lindenal bowed.

Caryndil strode off down the hill, and as he reached the base, he saw a party of two score spearmen, their blades glistening in the sun. He saw a party of at least thirty archers, seated in the grass, and in the road nearby, a strange device of gleaming wood and metal- an Eagle Claw Repeating Bolt Thrower, the devastating war machine of Ulthuan.

As they saw the grey robed figure walk down, the archers rose up, and the spearmen stood to attention. Their leader walked out, and when he reached Caryndil, stopped.

" Good morning, Commander. My battalion stands ready to accompany you. " 

Despite his formal, polite words, Caryndil could sense, as he had so many times before, the coolness and disdain the rest of the Asur felt for his kin. However, as he had done before, he ignored it.

" Greetings. My force will be ready to begin the march within minutes. You know of our destination?"

The champion bowed. " Many times have I desired to view the land of Avelorn, sir, and am glad of this opportunity. "

Caryndil nodded, content. Turning around, he saw his troop coming swiftly down the hill, and facing the champion again, said, " Then let us begin."

The Elves marched all that day, northeast, skirting the foothills of the mountains, and staying on one of the highways of Tiranoc. The Bolt Thrower was pulled by two white horses. They saw no one that day, a sad reminder of the declining population, though they passed many shrines and empty houses. Along the road, Caryndil outlined his plan to himself. They would march towards the Eagle Gate, the nearest gap in the Annulli, and cross over into Ellyrion, and thence to Avelorn. What would happen then, he had no idea. One did not simply walk into Avelorn and ask to speak with the Everqueen. However, on the third day of the march, Caryndil's mind was distracted from this, and violently. 

At noon, the Elves were forced to dash to the side of the road as a chariot came rushing down it. The charioteers stopped twenty yards past them, and one called out to them,

" Are you going to the village of Falen Danath? " 

Caryndil called back, " No, we seek the Eagle Gate "

The charioteer answered, " Beware, the Dark Ones have seized the hills around the village- if not stopped, they will block the road to the gate. We are heading for the village now, to see what defence can be made- your forces would be of use. "

Holding a quick discussion with the elves nearby, Caryndil ascertained that the majority of his force wished to proceed directly to the Gate. However, the Shadow Warriors insisted, each and every one, to fight. Caryndil himself was of the same mind. 

" Tell them that we shall come. Death to the Druchii!" he cried, lifting his sword high.

The charioteer gave a spirited war whoop in return, and his companion spurred their steeds on.

However, before sundown that day, the Elves under Caryndil came upon a scene of battle- all had not gone well with the Asur. Three chariots were broken on the field, and sprawled over the carriage of one was the same charioteer who had beckoned Caryndil to help him. There was a crossbow bolt in his neck. The elves noted the bodies of several Dark Ones nearby, and turning one over, Caryndil saw that they were Corsairs, mainly, although he saw a horseman with a crossbow and spear, dead on his fallen steed, with a white fletched arrow in his heart. Dark Riders. 

The spearmen looked askance at the scene of carnage, but the Shadow Warriors knelt on the ground, solemnly, in prayer for the souls of their fallen brethren. After they had finished, they piled the bodies of the Druchii into a heap, and burnt them. No Dark Elf corpse would sully the earth of Ulthuan. The charioteers they buried with their steeds, marking as their grave a shield, which bore the Tear of Isha rune upon it. By this time, it was growing dark. They had not reached the village of Falen Danath, as Caryndil had hoped they would. He gave orders to pitch camp. 

Ilmerin, the one elf maiden left to Caryndil's band, approached him.

" The kin of the evil ones are not far, Caryndil," she said, anxiously. " They will have seen the bonfire. They will attack."

Caryndil stiffened, horror struck. He had not realised what he had done- in caring for the burial of his kin, he had not thought of the remaining Druchii. The champion of the archers overheard this.

" They will attack at night, when we are asleep." he said. 

Caryndil shook his head. " No. Shadow Warriors never sleep when the spawn of Naggoroth are near. We have taught them that much, in our wars. "

" What, then, will they do?" demanded the archer, worriedly. 

Caryndil sighed. 

" Ready your troops. "

The elf stared at him, dumbstruck.

" Ready your troops! There isn't much time!" Caryndil said again, heavily.

Quickly, Caryndil surveyed the landscape. They stood in a small copse of trees, by the roadside. In front of them was the wide meadow where the charioteers had fought and died, and at the end of that, some two hundred yards away, was a thicker, darker wood, of tall pine, which stretched up over the hills, going away northwards. Caryndil ordered the archers to form up just outside the copse, using the wrecked chariots as cover. The spearmen stood behind them, and the bolt thrower was on the right. The Shadow Warriors melted away, without any instruction, to behind the road, where they could surprise the Dark Elves. Famenon confronted Caryndil. 

" Where are you going, Commander?"

" I shall remain here, with the main body" spoke Caryndil, surprised. 

Famenon nodded. " Then I will accompany you. "

Caryndil frowned. " I have no need of a guard. Go to the spearmen, they will need support."

Famenon looked deeply offended. " My liege," Caryndil winced, " it is my duty, as a Warrior of Chrace, to guard you with my life. Besides, " he said, " Lindenal is with the Shadow Warriors." Caryndil looked over and saw that he was, polishing his long sword, and giving words of encouragement to the elves around him. 

" Well, " Caryndil sighed, reluctantly, " If you must..."

The attack came just as the sun was about to dip below the sea. A cry went up from the archers, and Caryndil saw that there was a dark, metallic glint in the woods across the meadow. Suddenly, from out of the eastern wood rode at least twenty Dark Riders, mounted on midnight steeds, and heading straight for the archers. Letting forth a mighty shout, the first rank sent a hail of arrows towards the cavalry. Two fell, dragged along the ground in inglorious death. However, the remainder loosed a volley of bolts at the archers, and four fell screaming. The cavalry swerved away from the road and crossed the field again, firing more bolts, and being met by the same white fletched arrows. One more Dark Elf fell, and three archers died. The Bolt Thrower, on Caryndil's signal, fired, taking down another Dark Rider, and wounding one's horse. The riders veered off, heading back into the woods. A ragged cheer went up from the High Elves. But then, a host of dark armoured warriors burst from the woods- Corsairs. There were at least fifty, and behind them were foes that Caryndil had always dreaded fighting- Witch Elves. They danced maniacally, waving vicious daggers and swords in a deadly ballet, rushing towards Caryndil's line. Then, the Dark Riders returned, and now pelted head on towards the High Elves. Caryndil's heart sank, and around him, the elves were becoming nervous. The archers were slowly backing away. With a shout, Caryndil reassured them. Famenon was motionless, and Lindenal moved about amongst the spearmen, reassuring them. A hail of bolts took the lives of several more archers and spearmen, but the bolt thrower was now firing volleys. Corsairs died in droves, but when the archers sought to finish them off, they shrugged off the darts with their scaly green cloaks. They were only yards away, and then-

" NAGARYTHE!" with a cry, six arrows flew from behind the road, and six Corsairs fell, hit in their faces. Then, before they could react, six more arrows flew towards the Dark Riders, and two fell. The six Shadow Warriors were up and firing. Caryndil strung his bow, and murmuring a prayer to Loec, joined in, his arrow finding the heart of a crazed Witch Elf. Again, he felt the familiar battle flame leap up within him, and he exulted to see his fellow Shadow Warriors in the fight. But now the Shadow Warriors had been seen. Several Dark Riders veered towards them, and fired their bolts. Witch Elves followed. With horror, Caryndil saw one of the bolts hit Durhiel, an old elf, in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, and Caryndil saw the others retreat, firing as they went. To other Elves, it might have seemed cruel to abandon a comrade, but the Shadow Warriors knew, with the grim certainty of four thousand years of battle, that the wound was fatal. Caryndil murmured a prayer for the elf's soul, even as the Dark Riders cruelly and needlessly sent a dozen other bolts into Durhiel's shaking body. The Shadow Warriors melted away, but Caryndil knew that they would return.

The threat to their flank gone, the Druchii surged forward again. Caryndil ordered the archers to fall back, and the spearmen to come forward. In one fluid movement, the elves stepped forward, forming a semicircle, with the archers on the inside. The Dark Elves were about to make contact, a final bolt thrower salvo downing four more Corsairs, when the front rank dropped, spears held high, the second and third ranks lowering their spears in a beautifully co-ordinated motion. Then, the Druchii hit. Many died instantly on the wall of spear points, but others got in closer, and fought viciously. The Corsairs at first were confounded by the spearmen's tight formation, but then the Witch Elves hit. They vaulted over the ranks in front, and sunk their daggers into vulnerable necks and faces, their skill mocked the spearmen's defences, and the beleaguered elves began to die. Caryndil rushed into the combat with a roar. On his left he saw Lindenal cutting swathes through the Corsairs, his heavy blade as light as a normal sword. A Witch Elf, shrieking hatred, leapt through the air, daggers outstretched, to stab the elf in the back. But Lindenal turned at the last possible moment and ran her through, the hatred in her eyes turning to shock and disbelief, before her corpse was kicked contemptuously off by the Swordmaster. Caryndil himself fought well, his blade flicking in and out of the Dark Ones, dealing swift death. Famenon protected his back, no defence could stand against his mighty axe. Caryndil saw the Corsairs hesitate, and he thought for a moment that they could triumph. But then, suddenly, he heard a sharp cry, and turning saw the remaining Black Riders plough into combat, their spears skewering the spearmen. One turned in his saddle and fired two bolts at Caryndil, who dodged the first, but turning back around, was horrified to see, in an instant, a bolt heading for his heart. He was doomed, but then- 

It hit, and instantly evaporated into black dust. Caryndil looked, amazed, at the point of impact, and saw the little box that Falryr had given him. It was glowing brightly, hung on a chain round his neck. Yet other elves weren't so lucky. The Bolt Thrower crew was dead, and by now, the spearmen were outnumbered and outflanked, dying where they stood. They could not remain where they were.

" Retreat! " shouted Caryndil, hoping to continue the fight in the wood, where the lack of numbers would be compensated for. The archers broke and ran, but the spearmen slowly moved backwards, forming a square, giving ground slowly. Yet finally, they too were broken, and the survivors fled. Caryndil was the last to go, calling out a taunt in the harsh, ugly tongue of Naggoroth before he left. The Witch Elves and Corsairs screamed in fury, and followed him in.

The Elves fled back into the copse, trying not to listen to the sounds of the Druchii murdering the wounded. There were no formations now, the elves were all spread throughout the darkening wood. The shadows were long and dark. Suddenly, Caryndil stopped. The surviving archers and spearmen halted with him. A warning raced through his mind. Turning to the nearest spear elf, he hissed, "Your armour! Cover your armour!" 

The elf was puzzled. "Why? What with?"

"Take off your mail and breastplate!" whispered Caryndil. " The light shines off of them, you will be seen. The Cursed Ones are garbed in black, you stand out like a ghost! "

The elf was indignant. " My armour is sacred to my family, I will not abandon-"

A bolt came hissing through the gloaming. Caryndil turned and grabbed the obstinate elf by the shoulder and tried to pull him down. But he wouldn't budge. Angrily, Caryndil rose to force him down- and saw a black barbed shaft protruding from the elf's silver breastplate, nailing him to a tree. 

Caryndil ducked the second bolt and spun around, arrow notched. He saw a shadowy figure in a tree and loosed his arrow. The figure fell, and Caryndil saw that it had been a Shade, the arch nemeses of the Shadow Warriors, outcasts alike, shunned by Druchii society. Soon, other bolts began hissing through the air, and the elves began to die, their armour giving them away. Desperately, Caryndil ran from tree to tree, his arrows bringing swift death to what Shades lurked there, but it soon became clear that he was badly outnumbered. And now, the Witch Elves had caught up with the fleeing Asur. Screams filled the wood. They didn't have a chance. Those who took off their armour were slit open by the poisoned blades of the Witches, and those who kept their armour were slain by the Shades. Caryndil had lost contact with Famenon and Lindenal. He knew that there was no hope, but his people were not given to despair, and he refused to give up. He saw his band among the dying, loosing arrows at any Shades who showed themselves. But then, in horror, he saw the Witch Elves catch them surrounded in a clearing. Syraith died first, then Endath. Ilmerin ran, fending off the howling maniacs with her blade. Shouting, Caryndil ran to help her, but then she was hit in the leg by a bolt. She stumbled, and was hit again, in the shoulder. Still, she tried to run, but two Shades dropped down and impaled her with their cruel blades, stabbing over and over and over, until the elf maiden stopped shuddering. As her body hit the ground, the Shades stooped over her, readying their knives for decapitation. But this final disgrace Caryndil would not allow. The Shades died with arrows embedded in their necks. 

Standing alone, amidst the bodies of his only friends and family, Caryndil drew his long sword, and readied himself to die. The first Witch Elf ran at him shrieking, and found him better prepared than the defenceless archers, whose heads she held in her hand. She died in shock, with the blade through her midriff. The next assailant was slain too, but then two leapt at him. He parried their attacks with desperate skill, calling on all his ancestor's battle prowess to aid him. One Dark Elf was relieved of her head, but the next kicked him, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over in agony, to see the Witch standing over him with raised blade. Saying a prayer, Caryndil closed his eyes, ready to meet death, but before he did so the Witch oddly fell apart, into two perfectly even pieces. With a roar, Famenon strode forward, his axe mocking any defence the evil ones could make. Within seconds, not a single crazed Bride of Khaine lived in that glade, their pale bodies littered the grass. Famenon pulled Caryndil up to his feet. The elf was in a state of shock. His band of followers had been killed to an elf, and their bodies mutilated and defiled by the despicable Druchii. Despair stole over his heart, and he looked up in sorrow at the moon, now glowing above the forest. He had lost. He had failed.

Famenon's voice brought him back to his senses. " Commander."

Caryndil blinked, and then turned his head. " What?"

"The others are all dead- but Lindenal lives. We must find him." 

Caryndil was puzzled. " How do you know that he is alive? "

But Famenon would not answer, and Caryndil gave up trying to ask him. " Come then, " he said, and, gathering up all his store of elven resolve, he strode off into the shadows of the trees. It did not take long to locate the Swordmaster. There was a great clamour in the woods to Caryndil's right, and they found Lindenal cornered against a great oak, fighting with at least six Corsairs. It was a vastly outmatched combat, but to Caryndil's amazement the Corsairs died, one by one, the graceful sword swooping around their clumsy defences in a dance of death. The last two, showing the inherent cowardice of their race, ran from the Swordmaster's vengeful blade, but they did not escape the two arrows that sailed from Caryndil's longbow. Lindenal, panting with exertion, rested his blade against the tree. Caryndil stood in awe of the elf's martial prowess. 

Painfully, the elf spoke " I tried to save the others, but we were overmastered and taken by Shades in the wood. There were more of the Dark Ones, but they have gone. "

"Gone to warn their Lord", said Caryndil, through clenched teeth. "We have little time." Then, locking away all his grief and anger at the demise of his band, he forced himself to go on. " We must not allow the mission to fail. We continue on to the Eagle Gate. "

Famenon looked around bleakly at the High Elven dead sprawled over the fair wood, their silver armour tainted by blood. "What about the fallen? They deserve our respect," he said lamely, for he knew as well as the other two that time was of the essence. 

Caryndil knew that they had to leave, but nonetheless he felt aggrieved that his kin should lie unmourned and disgraced. It was hard, but locking away remorse, he began to walk away from the wood, keeping his cloak about him in secrecy. Famenon and Lindenal followed close behind. They left the wood, and were cautiously picking their way across the meadow where the battle had been fought, keeping low to the ground, and were in the verge of the dark forest on the other side when they heard a great noise, a low rumbling and shaking, pierced with guttural, croaking cries. They knelt on the ground just in time to see fifty armoured knights, Druchii mounted on great slavering reptiles, the feared Cold Ones of the North. The Knights drew up in ranks on the battlefield, and held their lances up in a salute. Through the moonlight, Caryndil's keen eyes made out a figure of a tall elf in black armour, seated on a Cold One, bearing a great sword of twisted iron. He spoke, and by his words Caryndil knew him to be a Lord. 

" Well, my knights, it would appear that another field is ours, the weak fools have all been slain, their bodies now belong to your mounts, feed them well tonight" 

His warriors laughed, their harsh voices a mockery of the sylvan High Elf speech. Caryndil's heart burned with loathing, for this coward had not even been at the battlefield, but was claiming a victory. But the Dark Elf was not finished. 

" Tonight we feast in the village of Falen Danath, courtesy of its late inhabitants," he rasped, holding up a head. It was the terrified face of a little girl, still recognisable even through the blood. Caryndil's loathing was an almost physical force. 

" Tomorrow we move up into the mountains, we will search this part of the land, and then meet with Lord Yeurl to co-ordinate the assault upon the Eagle Gate!" 

Lindenal swore in anger. " Their brazenness knows no bounds " he hissed.

Caryndil did not hear him. " We must move, we aren't safe here, " he said to his companions. " We must gain the Gate before the attack. Move!"

Famenon and Lindenal obliged, getting up and moving into the woods. Caryndil turned to follow, but stopped. He made sure his friends were out of sight, and then he unslung his longbow. Selecting an arrow, he took out his knife, and scratched the words, " The Light Shall Triumph ", in the language of Nagarythe. Then he wrote the names of every member of his band, Ilmerin, Hylindor, Syraith, Durhiel, Marhiel, and lastly, his own name, Caryndil. He strung the longbow, and put the arrow in the notch, drawing the string tight. Concentrating his mind on the dead bodies of his kin, and the evil of the foul being that stood gloating before him, he loosed his arrow. It flew through the night, and buried itself in the face of the Dark Elf, piercing his poisoned brain and ending his life almost instantly. He toppled from his mount, his harsh laughter turning to a death scream. His minions were thrown into confusion. But Caryndil did not see this. He unstrung his bow, slung it around his back, and followed his friends into the wood, melting into the shadows, as he had done a thousand times before.


	5. The Eagle Gate

The autumn wind blew sharply through the few scraggy pines, the last outposts of the empire of conifers which lay below, spreading north and westward. It whipped the cloaks of the three travellers into a frenzy, slowing their progress across the crest of the hill. But elves do not easily tire, and when Caryndil halted, it was to survey the land in front of him. Lindenal and Famenon stood beside him, gazing at the snow topped peaks ahead. Caryndil pointed at one which lay three leagues off. 

" To the side of that mountain lies a trail, built for quarrying the stone which makes up the Eagle Gate. We will find the gate below. " 

Lindenal nodded, and Famenon absentmindedly sharpened his great axe against a boulder. It had been eight days since the destruction of Caryndil's band, and after the fight, Caryndil had led them into the wild foothills of the Anulli, seeking to evade the Dark Elves who prowled the lowlands. The situation, as far as he could tell, was grave. Well nigh half of all Tiranoc was overrun, they had come across the bodies of their kin, and many wrecked chariots. The last of the elves they had met had told them that Prince Tyrion himself was mustering an army, and that the Phoenix King was readying the fleets of Lothern. Now, however, they were alone, adrift in the hills. 

Lindenal shifted the weight of his sword. " The air is uneasy here," he spoke. " The winds of magic blow stronger ". Caryndil nodded grimly. " We shall have to take our chances. It is a choice between the Druchii and the Hills. " He turned to the two of them. " Which would you choose? "

Famenon grinned. " The only thing I mind is that we're above the tree line- I'm a little out of my element." It was true- the White Lion had been of inestimable value in helping them through the woods. Caryndil patted him on the back, and then the two of them continued on, under the darkening sky.

The next night, as they lay huddled around their tiny campfire, the three were silent as they gazed into the flames. Suddenly, Lindenal stirred. He stood, and softly cried, "Look!" Caryndil turned, and recoiled as he saw tendrils of vapour stealing around them. They all stood up, and drew their weapons. The mist like coils surrounded them now, and as they reached the fire, it suddenly blazed up in a fury. Caryndil tried to stamp it out, lest their position be given away, but the fire burned brighter than ever. Lindenal stopped him. " You cannot!" he whispered. " It is the wind of Chaos!" In the night, they could hear moans, and occasionally, a piercing cry from unimaginable heights. However, nothing bothered them that night.

In the morning, the mists remained, as did the fire, though all the wood was ashes now. Caryndil was dumbfounded- where was the Gate? Stumbling forward in the gloom, he tried to remember what direction they had been going. At last, his scout's sense returning, he remembered vaguely- north. Trekking off into the mist, he led Lindenal, in a kind of daze, and Famenon, who was shouldering his axe, in the direction he hoped would lead them through. In the mist, strange noises, as before, issued from above- twisted calls and distant shuddering cries, like those of some warped bird. Throughout the mist, Lindenal could see- or said he could see-the very waves of magic pulsing through. It made them all aware of their great peril. 

Finally, the mists began to weaken, and towards evening, they emerged onto a rocky slope, fog free. In exultation, Famenon turned to jeer at the mists-but found that they were completely gone. The hills appeared as normal as they had before the hellish mists came. Caryndil shivered at the thought, and led the way across the rock strewn slope towards the mountain road he could see in the distance.

The next day, the three walked down the smooth mountain road which curved around the flanks of the hill, going down. They began to meet a few trees again, and soon, the air became warmer. As the chill of the mountains faded, Caryndil's heart began to ease, and again, he thought of his friends, his murdered kin. He saw all their faces, before him, and those of his parents as well. He saw those times in camp when the eternal war was not omnipresent, when there was laughter- the first time he held a bow, how he had hit himself in the face with the string, and all the elves around had laughed as he furiously twanged the string and lost his arrows. He saw, in pain, the last battle, and the deaths of all his friends, cut down by arrows, sliced by swords- his eyes hardened, and he shook his head. As he rounded a steep corner, he saw before him the Eagle Gate, in all its splendour. 

In this magnificent structure, the genius of the Elves was brought to full flower. The base of the high wall, some hundred yards long, was hewn from the very rock of the granite cliff itself, and the high white wall of towering stone which rose four hundred feet high above the base was smooth, without a chink, as though this too was fashioned from a single mighty rock. The gate itself, twenty yards wide, was of glittering silver and steel, with a magnificent eagle emblazoned in fiery ithilmar upon it. The lofty battlements were decked with deadly bolt throwers, and even from here Caryndil could see the helms of many warriors glinting in the westering sun. It brought a deep swelling of pride to his heart to see the glory of Ulthuan abound in the great Gate. 

They made their way down, towards the entrance of the Gate, until they were hailed by one of the sentries. " Who seeks entrance into the Kingdom of Ellyrion?" 

Caryndil called back, " Caryndil son of Morindil, a warrior of the Northlands, Famenon, a White Lion of Chrace, and Lindenal, a Swordmaster of the White Tower. "

There was a pause, and then the great gates swung open. A party of at least twenty elves on horseback stood ready, bows in their hands. They relaxed when they saw Caryndil. 

One laughed. " Beware, Ylien, a ferocious band of Dark Ones is near. " The others chuckled at this, and the one who had spoken dismounted and greeted Caryndil. 

" My apologies, " he laughed. " But my commander Ylien is over cautious, and would have my elves ride down any and all who come within a mile of his Gate. " 

Caryndil had stiffened at being called Dark Elf, even in jest. "He is right to be cautious," he snapped, "for the Druchii are near and in force."

The Ellyrian refused to lose his smile. "And when they come, we'll be ready for them. Four thousand screaming Witch Elves couldn't take this Gate if anyone was alive in it. " 

Caryndil maintained his stiffness, but his tone lost his anger. "They will come, and be assured that they will stop at nothing to get past you." 

The Ellyrian looked playfully at Lindenal and Famenon, "Is he always this cheerful?" he asked, smiling. "Enter, please enter. You are the guests of Ylien, our overcautious commander, and Virlain, yours truly!" He took off his plumed helmet and reared his horse. Caryndil managed an exasperated smile, and as they went through the Gate. Famenon whispered in his ear- "Inner Kingdom Elves". And at this, Caryndil did truly smile, despite the weeks of hardship and loss. The elves of the Inner Kingdoms were always more removed from the concerns of the North and West, and seemed rarely to lose their gaiety and laughter, a fact which many of the solemn northerners from Chrace, Cothique and Tiranoc found exasperating, but which, in the end, always cheered them up. 

Virlain led the travellers to a high white stone building which sat back about fifty yards from the Gate itself. 

"There are rooms spare in the West Wing of the barracks," he said, "and while they are hardly like the chambers of her Majesty the Everqueen, I hope they will suit you for the duration of your stay" 

Caryndil nodded. "They will suffice. I would speak with your commander, if he is able." 

Virlain frowned slightly. "Well, alright, but you'd better not upset him any more- he hasn't slept for a fortnight-always standing on the tower tops, looking out for the Eagle messengers. " he smiled ruefully. "He takes out his anger on my poor squadron." There was a chorus of half sullen, half amused agreement from the Reavers behind. 

Caryndil and Lindenal went up to speak with Ylien, while Famenon stayed behind to ready the rooms. They found Ylien gazing out of a high arched window, in a chamber at the top of the central tower. He turned to meet them, and he did indeed look tired and pained. 

"You are the visitors? You should not be travelling this late- there are Druchii patrols everywhere." 

He looked at their clothing, and recognised Lindenal's silver and blue armour.

" Ah! A Master of the White Tower!" he cried, and hastily poured some wine into a jewelled cup. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Eagle Gate. My grandson is currently studying at the Tower- Anlien is his name- do you know him?" Lindenal nodded. "Dark hair, sort of moody fellow?"

Ylien nodded vigorously. " Aye, that's him! I-"

Gently, Lindenal interrupted him. "I believe my friend Caryndil thirsts as well." 

Ylien paused, and looked at Caryndil. His eyes travelled quickly over Caryndil's grey cloak, hard boots, longbow and sword, his blood stained white tunic and his matted blond hair. Ylien's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Caryndil recognised the condescension in his face. " A pleasure to meet you, too," said Ylien coolly, and poured another goblet of wine. 

They talked for a half hour, as the golden evening light faded and grew dim. The talk was mainly of Ylien's grandson, and his studies, and the advancement of the family in court. Ylien seemed relieved to speak about these things at length, and Lindenal had a wonderful way of showing interest in discreet ways, at all times courteous and polite without becoming too involved. Having borne the one way conversation for a while, Caryndil attempted to turn the discussion to the day's events.

"You must be able to tell us something of the enemy outside the Gate." At this, the commander showed a little annoyance, but with a nod of interest from Lindenal, he spoke.

"According to the latest messages, the armies of the Dark Ones have overrun much of Tiranoc, and if what we hear is true, then Tor Anroc itself is besieged." He sighed tiredly. "The Northlands are of course in their hands, though there is some trouble from the few loyal hill elves, who pester the enemy incessantly, though they cannot have much overall effect." Caryndil bristled at this scathing remark, but said nothing. Ylien continued, " There is every indication that they will attempt to attack the Gate, but I have not received any word from the Eagles so far today, I do not know-" 

At that moment an elf in a white tunic and green vest strode into the room, bowed, and calmly announced. " My lord commander, there is a patrol of the enemy five hundred yards beyond the Gate." Caryndil stiffened, and Ylien asked, " How many? " 

The guard answered. "About a hundred. Horse, but with a detachment of Shades on the flanks. They think they are hidden amongst the rocks. "

Caryndil got to his feet, and said, "Well commander, it seems the Druchii have presented themselves at last. "

But Ylien frowned, "A hundred is nothing. Merely a nuisance." Caryndil was surprised. The force that had murdered his command had numbered scarcely more than a hundred. 

"Come," said Ylien, tiredly. "I think we all need some cheering up."

They went outside, Caryndil had strung his bow and was looking into the distance, where he could see a huge troop of Black Riders wheeling their horses in front of the Gate. To his shock, he saw that the Gate below was open. He turned to Ylien in surprise, but the elf waved him quiet. "Not a sound. With any luck, they'll come right up to the Gate, see the open door, and think they can charge through, by which time the Reavers will be able to catch them. Caryndil understood his plan, and felt a grudging admiration for the commander's shrewd plan. 

"I wish to join the attacking force, " he said, but before Lindenal could say anything, Virlain appeared, with Famenon behind him. " A capital idea, " said Virlain. " We could use a real archer, to show us horse boys how to shoot. " Lindenal chuckled, but Ylien reddened. " I'll have you know, " he said to Caryndil, " that these reavers are amongst the most skilled in Ulthuan. " 

Caryndil nodded. " I do not deny it. " 

Virlain patted him over the shoulder and motioned him down the stairs. 

"You have to forgive Ylien- he is very proud of his command, and he doesn't take kindly to criticism. "

"So I gathered," remarked Caryndil. 

They made their way to the Gate, and there Virlain vaulted onto his horse, who with the rest of the Reavers was waiting in the shadow to either side of the Gate. Virlain spoke in a whisper. 

"You must remain inside the Gate until we have all passed outside. Only then may you follow. I'll not have you trampled by us. " Caryndil smiled, and nodded. He notched an arrow to his bow string, but started as Famenon spoke behind him, " Make sure you get back in before the Gates close."

All the elves waited as the sounds of horse hooves outside grew louder. Knowing that the Druchii could see very well in the darkness, they kept their swords sheathed and stayed in shadow. Soon, dark cloaked figures appeared out of the night, scarce yards beyond the Gate. Harsh voices could be heard murmuring. There was an argument, and a soft cry. Caryndil seethed- he knew that the Dark Ones were "nominating" one unlucky fellow to go through the Gate first. His suspicion was confirmed when a solitary horseman came through the Gate, with a rider in black, massaging his bruised side. He needn't have bothered. The arrow which took him in the back came as almost an afterthought, as the Reavers surged through the Gate, their voices raised in song, as they spurred on their mounts. An explosion of noise, arrows hissing and voices crying, came through the Gate. Caryndil could tell that the Dark Ones had been taken completely by surprise. He ran outside, and found the Reavers riding skilfully around a knot of Dark Riders, exchanging fire. The Dark Elves masterfully controlled their panicking steeds, focussing on their hatred to overcome their fear. Reavers fell as bolts took them off their horses. But the Reavers retreated, firing arrows out of range of the cumbersome repeater crossbows. The Dark Elves, packed tightly together, died en masse. Caryndil leapt to a low outcropping of rock near the cliff wall. He vaulted over a boulder to find a Shade waiting with a crossbow. Quickly, Caryndil lashed out with this sword and cut the weapon in two, and then dealt the Dark Elf a mortal blow across the stomach. He then took up his bow, and scanning the rocks for more Shades, delivered deadly shots across the valley. From behind him, he heard a low moan, and turned to find Famenon confronted by three Shades who had dropped from the rocks above. One was dying on the ground, sobbing over his lost legs and arm, but the other two were forcing the Chracian back. Famenon wielded his huge axe with amazing speed and skill, pushing against the enemy blades, and giving as good as he got. Caryndil rushed to help, but then a sudden sweep of the axe decapitated a Shade, and the last one retreated, as Famenon retook control of his axe. The Shade whipped out her crossbow and fired, before Caryndil could move. Two bolts embedded themselves in Famenon's back. In horror, Caryndil raced to pull them out, but Famenon shrugged him off, and with an angry yell ran towards the Shade, who was refitting her crossbow. She fired again, and again two bolts hit home, in the white lion skin, but before she could fire again, the mighty axe swept clean through her midriff, and she fell apart. Famenon turned to the amazed Caryndil, pulled the arrows off of his cloak, and scowled. " That bolt hit Algare in his paw, and it hurt. " 

Algare was the name of the lion that Famenon had slain. Turning back to the fight, Caryndil could see that the Dark Riders were almost all slain. The last few tried to escape, but were cut down, and as their horses fled they too were shot. Caryndil felt the cold satisfaction of blood vengeance, and he walked over to where Virlain's horse stood. He saw a look of great sadness and grief on the Reaver's face. Virlain, seeing that he was being watched, turned in the saddle and spoke.

"Whenever we fight our dark brethren," he rasped, "the most odious task is to slay the steeds that bear them. " Caryndil could hear the Reavers moving in amongst the injured Dark Steeds of the Druchii and spearing them. He understood, and bowed his head. The Dark Steeds were stolen as foals from the Ellyrians, and from the worst of that noble race of horses were bred these black beasts, with wild manes and angry eyes. It was a terrible corruption, and so the Reavers killed them whenever they could, to reduce the number of breeding stock available, but it was a foul task. The elves of Ellyrion loved their horses, and even such twisted beasts still bore some of the marks of their nobler forbears. It was another nameless horror of the eternal war between the Dark and High Elves.

Wearily, Caryndil and Famenon made it back inside the Gate with the Reavers. Casualties were light; only eight Reavers had fallen, but there were numerous wounds, and Caryndil fell asleep in his bed after aiding with bandages and other medicine. It was absolute luxury to sleep in a real bed with sheets and pillows, and it reminded the weary Shadow Warrior of the austerity of his life. No doubt an Eastern or Southern noble would cringe at the conditions here in the northwest, but to Caryndil, who was the last of a long line of nobles, and the last of his band, it was heaven. 

In the morning, after making sure that there was no more help required, Caryndil set out with his companions east once more, heading through the rocky gorge, steadily descending. And came, at about noon, to a bend in the road, from whence he could see the green plains of and rolling foothills of Ellyrion. There were few visible settlements, but even from this distance Caryndil could taste the freshness and spring of the air. There was a sea breeze in it, and it beckoned the trio on, towards Avelorn.


End file.
